


The Consulting Logician and the Seven-Year Itch

by Emcee



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Het, Mash-up, Pon Farr, Table Sex, Treklock, Vulcan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 17:47:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emcee/pseuds/Emcee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A decidedly brilliant Vulcan, Sherlock has always managed to avoid this situation with meditation. But trapped on the USS Baker NCC-221-B, he'll turn to his friend Doctor Hooper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Consulting Logician and the Seven-Year Itch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PetraTodd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetraTodd/gifts).



> A good friend will read your crazy Sherlock-Star Trek Mashup PWP. A great friend will encourage you to write it. While you're at your grandparents' house.

He had never given into the need before.

He'd gone through the imbalance twice now since his adolescence. His chosen mate had rejected him and he hadn't resisted, avoiding _kal-if-fee._ She was disgusted by the idea of mating with him. He found it illogical to mate with anyone.

He'd always avoided _plak tow_ by deep meditation, by sinking into his mind palace and ignoring the innate need within him, the imbalance in his serotonin and adrenaline levels, calling out to him, screaming at him to take a mate.

This was the first time he'd been away from home during his time. The _USS Baker NCC-221-B_ was not conducive to slipping away for days at a time, especially when one was the Chief Science Officer. He'd denied it, despite knowing deep inside that it was inevitability. He had duties to attend to. But now he could no longer deny it. His needs as a man needed to be attended. He felt it shaking him to his very core. His carefully measured emotions were rising, overwhelming him.

He could feel it-- himself-- unspooling. He'd yelled at Lieutenant Anderson. As much as the Lieutenant usually deserved his scorn, normally Sherlock was able to keep that desire buried deep within him.

There was also the physical toll, the heat that was rising with him. He'd been on bridge duty when Captain Lestrade cast a worried look at Sherlock's pale, sweat slicked skin. He'd gripped at the console with a shaky hand, proclaiming he'd come down with a case of Tarkalean Flu. While Sherlock was perfectly capable of diagnosing his own condition, Lestrade still insisted he go to the Medical Bay to be examined by Doctor Watson.

John would _know._ He would be able to figure it out. Sherlock would never hear the end of it.

It was logical to just ignore the Captain's orders and go straight to his quarters, delve into his mind and hope he could still salvage himself.

John was not in the Medical Bay. As bad as it would be for John to engage in the puerile, human practice of  'taunting', this was much worse.

He knew Doctor Molly Hooper looked just as she always did. Dressed in the regulation uniform for female aboard a Starfleet star ship.

It was only now he registered that the regulation uniform for a female aboard a Starfleet star ship was a sinfully short skirt and shiny black boots clinging to shapely legs.

Doctor Hooper was the only female Doctor on staff. Sherlock has observed a rather archaic gender inequality in Starfleet that was at odds with the self-proclaimed enlightenment of society. He planned to write a paper on the contradictory phenomena.

He was getting sidetracked. When not in the throes of _Pon Farr_ , he only registered Doctor Hooper as a female because of her coat. She wore a white overcoat over her blue mini-dress. It was an antiquated symbol of the medical profession, but it showed her status as a Doctor rather than a nurse. Sherlock had always respected that.

As his _Pon Farr_ clouded mind gazed over the white coat hugging her body, his respect turned to appreciation-bordering-on-fetish.  

"Doctor Hooper," Sherlock rasped out.

"Sherlock?" Doctor Hooper-- no, Molly. _Molly, Molly, Molly_ \-- asked, her voice light and lilting even as it was full of question. "Are you okay?"

He knew Molly's illogical affection for him. If he just asked her to excuse him from duty, she would do it. Captain Lestrade would not question the recommendation of a medical officer.

But as he gazed at the young Doctor; took in the sight of her nubile body, primed for joining and wide brown eyes filled with loyalty and affection, something else escaped his mouth.

"It is my intention to declare _koon-ut so'lik_." Sherlock took in a sharp breath, surprised by his own words. But he quickly realized as he watched Molly play with her honey brown hair how much he truly meant them.

" _Koon-ut so'lik_?" Molly repeated, her voice rising in pitch from surprise.

Sherlock rolled his eys. "It is a Vulcan mar--"

"I know what it is," Molly cut him off, her voice weak as she shook her head. "I read about Vulcans when I... When I..."

When she fell in love with him, he knew she wanted to answer. But she would never allow herself to admit the truth.

Molly looked down, wringing her hands. "I just mean... You don't want to declare it. Not to me. I don't count."

Sherlock's brow furrowed. He approached the woman slowly, raising a hand to her cheek, caressing her skin lightly. "You do count. You've always counted. And I've always trusted you." He shuddered at the contact with her. Vulcans did not seek out contact. It was too heady, too overwhelming. Even now, snippets of Molly's life penetrated his mind's eye.

Molly gasped and her hands flew up to Sherlock's hair, burying in the curls that seems so incongruous to his Vulcan heritage. Her cheeks had flushed. She'd obviously touched on his need through the brief bond. He hadn't intended such. Not yet. But he paused, enjoying the sight of the woman becoming undone.

It was only John and Molly. They were the ones who understood him on the ship. Who respected that a Vulcan, despite ears being the only physically identifying difference from a human, was distinctly not human.

Molly did not shy away from him. She was intrigued by him.

As she slipped her fingers out of his hair and raised her first two fingers to him, he realized... She was the logical choice.

Sherlock pressed his paired fingers to hers and groaned. He then rested his forehead against hers. The ardour to mate had never been so great in him before. He was not just with a woman. He was with _his_ woman. The one with whom he could allow himself to let go, to fall apart.

"Molly," he groaned, burying his face in her slender throat. He inhaled the scent of her skin, an intoxicating fragrance he'd never experienced before.

Molly tilted her head and brushed her lips against his. Such a human gesture, one Sherlock had not experienced before. The touch of fingers was the Vulcan equivalent. However, he found the human touch was not unwelcomed. In fact, the sensation was alluring. Slightly moist lips pressed together parted slightly as Molly's deft tongue caressed his uncertain one.  His hands trailed down her body, slipping beneath her coat and tugging up the hem of her skirt, rucking it around her waist.

Molly gasped. Even in the fog of _Pon Farr_ , Sherlock identified it as one of distress. He pulled away from Molly, furrowing his brow as he looked down at her. He then heard the hiss and snap of the door completing its opening.

He whirled around and set his gaze upon John, who was looking over the scene with wide-eyed shock.

"Sherlock, what in the wor--"

"Get out!" Sherlock roared.

He could see it in John's eyes: the look of shock turning to one of understanding. Sherlock wanted to feel shame that his secret had been exposed. But at the feel of Molly's soft breasts pressed to his chest, he found himself unable to care. The biological imperative of his mating cycle coupled with the realization he'd found his mate was too much for him to bear.

"Tarkalean Flu," John said calmly. "That's what you told the Captain you had. I'll go tell him I agree with the diagnosis."

Sherlock wanted to acknowledge the gesture of his friend. But Molly made a brief, keening mew beneath him and he was drawn back to her. His grip on her waist was so tight she would no doubt bruise. He needed to take care with her. She was human. She was fragile.

He dimly registered the hissing of the door shutting behind John. He also registered the notion that he should move them to his quarters. _Pon Farr_ could last days. Seeing as he had resisted as previous cycles, no doubt this one would be particularly arduous now that he had given in.

He tipped Molly back onto the biobed. He tilted his head curiously as he gazed down at her. Her pale skin was flushed with colour. Was it psychically transmitted _Pon Farr_ effects or was it her own desire for him?

Molly stroked her fingers over Sherlock's once again. "As it was in the dawn of your days, as it will be for all tomorrows. To you, I consecrate all that I am."

Sherlock wanted to ask how she knew such secret Vulcan rituals. They were closely guarded by his people. Even in his lust-addled mind, he was able to deduce the answer.

Molly loved him. Molly had learned them _for_ him. He joined her in the gentle caress of their fingers. "From you I receive all that I am."

Molly leaned up and pressed her mouth to his once again. Sherlock let out a soft sigh at the touch. Molly's words were whispered against his skin. "As it was in the beginning, so shall it be now."

Sherlock stared deep into her dark brown eyes. "Two bodies, one mind."

With the ritual over (Sherlock knew deep down it wasn't truly enough to make Molly his mate, but no, he couldn't care) he gave into his desires. The dams broke and he buried his face in her neck, sucking and biting at the tender flesh. Molly sobbed and clutched tightly to him.

Need. Want. Take. Mine. Mine. Mine. His mind repeated his mantra over and over. His erection was pressing against his trousers insistently. He groaned against Molly's flesh, sucking at the delicious skin.

"Wait, wait, wait..." Molly moaned softly. She pushed at him gently. It took all of Sherlock's self-control to relent, letting his mate pull away from him.

Mine. Mine. Mine. His mind repeated, wanting to lay his claim on her fully, to consummate their union.

Molly retrieved a hypospray. Sherlock wondered briefly if she was planning to sedate him in order to escape his feverish desire. Instead, she placed the medical device at her own throat, injecting it.

"I..." Molly gasped. "I don't want..."

Of course. If she were to become pregnant from their coupling, her career in Starfleet would be over. Of course, the odds of a Vulcan and a human mating without medical intervention were incredible low.

He allowed himself only a moment for contemplation before he before he let his need overwhelm him once again. He grabbed her, using his superior strength to tear open the front of her uniform. He parted it, revealing the pale skin beneath.

He lowered his head, tasting her breasts. Her peaked nipples revealed her desire, as the ambient temperature in the medical bay was quite warm for a human (it was a touch too cool for a Vulcan). His fingers slipped up her thigh, the dampness of her knickers confirming what the rest of her body had told him. She wanted him. She needed him.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Hers. Hers. Hers.

Sherlock tugged his own uniform off, abandoning it on the floor without care. Molly sucked in a breath at the sight of him. He slipped between her legs, pressing his fingers against the gusset of her underwear. "While I have no engaged in one myself, I am aware of the steps taken in human mating rituals. I apologize for not having time for--"

"Sherlock," Molly gasped. She brought her hands up to touch his face, trace her fingers over his cheekbones. "I need you. Now."

Sherlock groaned and grasped her knickers, tearing them from her hips. Molly let out a soft shriek, but it turned to a sigh as Sherlock slid inside of her.

He found warm, wet salvation between her thighs. She clutched at him, pulling the fevered mania from him. His mind was no longer filled with fire. He could enjoy the sensations of everything around him, of everything that was Molly. The softness of her small breasts against his cheek as he leaned down and nuzzled them. The rasp of her leather boots against the back of his thighs as she wrapped her legs around him. Her slender fingers carding through his hair, sliding down and tracing the tips of his pointed ears. The slick caress of her tongue against his hypersensitive fingers, an erotic mix of both of their species' forms of affection.

He could not last long. Even in the midst of his mating, he thought of his brother. When Sherlock had broken his engagement, Mycroft had insisted that no Vulcan woman would have him now and no human woman would be satisfied with _Pon Farr_ ritual. He would simply selfishly take from his mate. A non-Vulcan could never understand.

But Molly was looking up at him with the deepest affection in her eyes. She continued to kiss and lick at his fingers. Sherlock pulled saliva-slicked fingers away from her mouth. He slipped them down to find her clitoris.

Maybe most Vulcans would disappoint a human lover during _Pon Farr_ , but he was not most Vulcans. He had resisted the urge of _Pon Farr_ twice with the power of his own mind. He could hold out long enough to show his lover care.

Molly writhed beneath him as he continued the rhythmic thrusting into her. His fingers stimulated her sensitive bud, urging her towards her completion.

Molly shrieked and she clenched around him, her fingers tightening in his curls. Sherlock held tightly to her, his thrusts becoming erratic. He crushed his mouth to hers, frantically showing his affection as he became overwhelmed with pleasures of mating.

Sherlock groaned as he fell onto Molly. He knew his weight was heavy on her, but he needed to stay close to her, if only for a moment. He inhaled their mingled scents, heavy with their desire for one another. Sherlock lifted his head to survey her. Her pale skin was now marred with red blotches. He'd claimed her, marked her as his.

Shakily, he pulled himself away from her. He buttoned up her coat, shielding her nudity. "I--" His voice was trembling. "I will need you again. Soon."

"How soon?" Molly asked, her pink tongue darting out to wet her lips.

"An hour," Sherlock replied. He slipped a hand under her coat, over her thigh as he reconsidered. "Maybe half."

"We shouldn't deprive John of the medical bay," Molly whispered, standing up and clutching her coat shut demurely.

Sherlock grabbed his abandoned clothes, tugging them on. "Yes. Of course."

Molly grinned mischievously. "Your quarters or mine?"

Sherlock smiled back at her. "I believe my quarters will be sufficient."

Molly blushed as she touched her fingers to Sherlock's lips. "If you give me the chance I... I might be able to get the time down to fifteen minutes."

Sherlock's brow rose in amazement at his mate. This was certainly going to be more interesting than meditation.


End file.
